


Sunlit Scales

by liketolaugh



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Fisherman!Link, M/M, Mermaid!Allen, Mermaid!Exorcists, Mermaids, Plot-heavy after the first like five chapters or so, mermaid au, more characters later - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:02:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7846123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketolaugh/pseuds/liketolaugh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Link didn’t expect his net to catch a merman. He definitely didn’t expect the merman to come back. And he never would have imagined that this would lead to an attack that threatened to put the merpeople under Leverrier’s control for the rest of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sunlight bent and shimmered in the water, sending Allen’s silver scales into a strange, beautiful dance, only accentuated by the flex and ripple of his muscles as he cut through the water. His eyes, the same color as his scales, were narrowed against the brightness, and flickering around to search out a flash similar to his own.

This part of the bay was dangerous; while it held the most fish (hence why Allen was here) it also, as a natural extension, had the most fishermen. And fishermen were not known for being friendly to merpeople.

But there were no boats here at the moment, so Allen allowed himself to relax a little; the fishermen would not arrive for hours, most likely. He turned his gaze to look for fish instead.

As soon as he relaxed his attention, of course, he ran headfirst into a net.

Instantly, Allen started to struggle against it; the initial collision had twisted one of his arms into the mesh, but it wasn’t freed so easily. Quite the contrary - each tug just drew it tighter, until he was wincing from the pressure on his skin.

The other arm, his left, which was blackened and dead-looking, had limited mobility - it certainly wasn’t dextrous enough to free the other.

Allen panicked. He thrashed and pulled in the water, sending ripples carelessly through the bay, but he couldn’t break the reinforced netting. All he managed to do was tangle himself further, twisting the netting around his tail. At one point, he ripped the delicate membrane of his tail fin and gasped in pain, but he didn’t really stop squirming until the netting threatened to strangle him.

At that point, he fell limp, gills flapping as he gasped for breath. When he caught it, he deflated with a frustrated groan.

“Well done, Walker,” he muttered to himself, letting his eyes fall closed. “Now you’ve really done it.”

It looked like he’d have to wait for the fisherman to come back. Not all of them were awful - some of them were actually quite nice - but Allen didn’t like to take chances unnecessarily.

One way or another, at least, the fisherman would have to untangle him. After that, he’d deal with whatever came his way.

Except the fisherman didn’t come. Allen knew the net had to be fresh - he had passed through that exact route just the day before, and there had been no fish in it until after he was caught - but no one came to reel it in. Worse, with his good arm caught and the net wrapped around his throat, it was nigh impossible to eat, even with the caught fish wriggling right with him.

Allen… hadn’t been in this much trouble in years.

* * *

It was three days later when Allen, half-conscious and dizzy, felt a jerk.

His first reaction was to flinch; the netting had dug into the deep cuts already made by the threads, and three days untended had done them no favors. His tail fin, already in rags, fluttered weakly with the motion.

His second reaction was to try and pry his eyes open. Tired and hungry, he only managed to get them halfway there, but it was enough to see by. The surface, he realized dimly, was getting closer.

A moment later, his head broke the surface, and he shut his eyes again with a wince.

The lack of sight did nothing to block the startled gasp from reaching his ears, and he was quickly pulled out of the water and dumped unceremoniously onto a hard wooden surface, which rocked wildly for a few moments before settling into a gentler motion.

“Merman!” a voice called sharply, sounding both alarmed and concerned. “Can you hear me?”

Allen winced and turned his head away. He knew this was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up, but _God,_ he hurt. His head hurt and his neck hurt and his arm and tail hurt.

He heard a quiet curse and then there was cold metal at his throat. A tightening, a soft snap, and breathing was suddenly much easier. He drew in a long, shuddering breath.

There was a sigh of relief in front of him, and then a mutter. “Well, at least I know you’re alive. Merman, are you awake?” The cold metal object, which must have been a knife, reappeared at his arm and released that, too.

Allen forced his eyes to open again, peering at the man in front of him with half-lidded eyes. “Yes,” he rasped hoarsely.

The man in front of him was blond, with brown eyes and a small frown. He was crouched down, and the rocking beneath them indicated that they were on a boat, corroborated by the rest of their surroundings. He held a knife in one hand, which he was already directing down to the netting around Allen’s silver tail.

“Good,” the man said without looking at him. A few more snaps freed Allen’s tail, and Allen hissed at the sting. The man winced as well, though it was almost unnoticeable.

For a few seconds, both of them were silent. Allen closed his eyes again and focused on breathing, feeling not much better for having been freed.

“I… apologize,” the man said at last, drawing Allen’s attention back to him. He still wouldn’t look at him, busying himself by piling up the remains of the net with the catch of flopping fish. “I meant you no harm.”

Allen managed a weary smile. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “I should have been paying more attention; I know a lot of people fish around here.”

The man nodded, but he still looked slightly ashamed.

“Thank you for cutting me free,” Allen added, nodding to the ruined net. “I know you’ll need to get a new one now.”

The man just shrugged. “Will you be able to get yourself home?”

Allen pushed himself up and took a moment to survey himself. He felt a little better, he decided; enough that he at least was no longer about to pass out. But then he looked down at his tail and winced.

His tail fin was in tatters, which meant movement would be slow and turning difficult. Blood was welling up from where the net had been crushing his scales and cutting into the flesh beneath; an experimental flop made him shut his eyes and hiss in pain.

When he opened them again, the man was looking at him with visible concern. He forced a smile.

“I’ll manage,” he assured him, though he wasn’t at all sure it was true. He’d swum in worse conditions before, but it had been a long time.

The fisherman frowned at him, apparently sensing that Allen was not being entirely honest. Allen smiled again and pushed himself up a little, flexing his tail to make it easier-

Except apparently he’d already forgotten what effect that had, because the exertion made him hiss again, and then he accidentally knocked one of the cuts against something rough. Pain shot up his tail and burned in his chest, his vision went dark, and he felt his arms give way under him, sending him collapsing against the side of the boat again.

“Merman!”

This time, the fisherman’s panicked voice wasn’t enough to rouse him, and silently, he apologized as his consciousness slipped away.

* * *

Link had been fishing since he was eight years old, eleven years now. In all that time, he’d never reeled in a merperson, and he’d been damn proud of that fact.

Apparently, his good track record had come to an end.

When he went to retrieve the net he’d left out, he’d been surprised at how heavy it was; it had taken a lot of his strength to pull it up. He’d been pleased, at first, since that would seem to indicate a hefty catch.

The injured merman thoroughly tangled up in it had been a very unpleasant surprise.

Now that the merman had fallen unconscious, Link studied him, frowning.

He had white hair and a scar down one side of his face, and his left arm looked unhealthy, almost rotten. Blood oozed from the cuts on his neck, arm, and tail, and even in his sleep, he winced with each rock of the boat.

Link sighed, turned around, and started to row back.

Leverrier’s policy regarding the merpeople was… unclear, at best. He discouraged close interaction, but had also ordered that they weren’t to be killed, which had upset many of the older fishermen.

Link himself had never had strong feelings about the merpeople, but he hadn’t wanted to hurt them, either. Perhaps he would have to be more careful in the future.

He glanced back at his passenger, who lolled against the side of the boat, breathing shallowly, gills fluttering pathetically. The merman had been surprisingly understanding, considering that Link had caused him to be caught in a net for what had to have been a day or more.

He’d been very… polite.

Link didn’t even know his name.

Link shook his head and returned his attention to steering. His house was right against the shore, and he had his own dock, which meant he wouldn’t have to awkwardly carry the merman through public space. He didn’t have much space, but he could set the merman on the bed and then fill the bathtub. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable of accommodations, but it was the best he could provide on such short notice. The merman probably shouldn’t be swimming much anyway.

Reaching the dock opened up the next set of tasks. He had to nudge the merman aside to reach his anchor and then tie the boat to the dock, and then lifted him up.

The shifting of balances set the boat rocking, but Link had spent almost more time on boats than on land, so it was easy enough to keep his footing, though he jostled the merman more than he’d perhaps intended to. Still, he managed to climb from the boat onto the dock without serious incident, and then headed to his house.

Inside, he set the merman on his bed - he’d have to wash the bedsheets, now stained with blood and saltwater, later - and went to fill the tub, making a mental catalog of what first aid supplies he had and what he needed.

 _Antibiotics, antiseptic, bandages, painkillers…_ Link winced slightly. _For a start._

Still, he was certain that he had all that he needed, so he took a bucket of water and a washcloth and returned to his room, where the merman hadn’t moved.

He sat on the edge of the bed and watched the merman breathe for a minute, frowning slightly.

“I should have been more careful,” he berated himself under his breath.

Of course, ‘should have’s did not help anyone, so instead of continuing in that vein, he sighed, bent over, and started to clean the cuts in brisk, efficient motions.

It would only be for a few days, and then he could set the merman free again. Leverrier would never have to know.

Still, he should at least learn the boy’s name.


	2. Chapter 2

It was warm. Allen was laying half-in and half-out of water, and the surface he laid on was as smooth as the surface of a pearl. He was also stuck in something that was far too small, and his head ached.

Wearily, he blinked his eyes open and started to stretch, but was cut off as his tail thunked against something. Startled, he sat up and looked around.

He was in a small room, dry, with wooden walls and little decoration. There was a shelf with a few bottles, a bar of soap, and a closed cupboard. Allen himself was in a tin tub just big enough to accommodate him, filled with water that, now that he was sitting up, reached just to the bottom of his gills, a little above the base of his ribcage.

From the other side of the rough wooden door, Allen could hear the sounds of footsteps and muffled thumps, more of the latter than the former, and a faint sizzling sound.

Allen frowned and looked down to check himself over. There were bandages wrapped snugly around his tail, and more on his arm. Reaching up, he felt cloth around his throat, too. His tattered tail fin had been sewn up in tiny, neat little stitches, so that it almost looked intact.

Now that he was more awake (if still not in the best condition of his life) he noticed that he still ached dully where the net had cut into him. But he was alive. Not just that, he was on land. Had the fisherman…?

A disconcerted flick of his tail sent water splashing across the floor. Allen yelped. The sounds in the other room stopped, but Allen was more concerned with the mess he’d just made, leaning over the side of the tub to peer anxiously at the dark spots now scattered across the rough wooden floor.

“Ahem.”

Allen yelped again and pushed himself up to stare, wide-eyed, at the blond man now standing in the doorway, looking somewhere between amused and exasperated. Bright light spilled from behind him, hurting Allen’s eyes a little before he adjusted.

“Um,” Allen said. The fisherman raised one eyebrow, and he stopped, blushing slightly in embarrassment and shame.

“I see you’ve woken up,” the human said ironically, crossing the room to crouch beside Allen, who didn’t take his eyes off of him. And then, somewhat more gently, “You seem much better.”

Allen blushed again. “I’m sorry for fainting on you like that,” he murmured, looking down.

“Never mind,” the man dismissed, shaking his head. “Clearly you couldn’t have made it home regardless.” The blond studied Allen for a minute, and the merman couldn’t help but squirm. All the human did, though, was say, “My name is Howard Link; you may call me Link. What is yours?”

Allen relaxed slightly, the webbed fingers of his right hand curling over the edge of the tub. “Allen Walker. It’s nice to meet you.”

“And to meet you as well,” Link returned curtly, watching him with a slight frown.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Allen added, smiling apologetically. His tail flexed slightly under the rim of the tub; the water swirled but did not splash out of the tub this time. “I know it must be a bother.”

Link shrugged. “I caused the injuries, therefore they are my responsibility.”

Allen laughed, leaning against the side a little more. “Still, thank you.”

Now Link was blushing slightly as well. “You’re welcome.” He cleared his throat and looked away, and abruptly moved to open the cupboard. He rummaged around in it for a moment, and then pulled out a roll of the same cloth that covered Allen’s wounds. “May I remove you from the water? I need to change your bandages.”

“Oh!” Allen sat up, displacing the water enough to send it swaying again. “Go ahead, I suppose.”

Allen was a little reluctant, knowing how helpless he was out of the water, but then again, in a tub this small, he was plenty helpless _in_ the water, too. Besides, he still didn’t feel well enough to resist.

Link nodded in acknowledgement, set the bandages down, and rolled up his sleeves. Then he leaned over and, surprisingly carefully, picked Allen up out of the water, as easily as if he weighed nothing. Allen held himself very still, worried that any sudden motion would make the man drop him and a little nauseated by the abrupt movement.

He needn’t have worried; Link didn’t carry him very far, instead setting him down so his tail was stretched out on the rough wood floor and his back against the wall. Allen set his hands on the floor to steady himself, feeling dizzy.

When he looked back up, Link was studying him again, a deep furrow between his brows. Allen tilted his head quizzically, and Link asked, almost businesslike in his brusqueness, “When did you last eat?”

Allen’s mouth twisted in a slight grimace, and he glanced away again. His stomach throbbed vengefully, and his fingers curled. “About three days ago,” he said after a moment, not looking at Link. “That was when I got caught, and I couldn’t move enough to reach.” Not that that had stopped him from trying.

When he dared glance up again, Link was frowning. “Then that takes priority,” he decided, rising. “You eat raw fish, don’t you?”

Allen brightened and nodded quickly, never mind how it worsened his headache. Link nodded shortly in return and disappeared out the door.

Still on the ground, Allen fidgeted impatiently. For lack of anything better to do, he rubbed his fingers against the grain of the floor, which was harder and rougher than the driftwood he was used to. Parts of it were dark from where water had dampened it, but those spots were quickly drying out and fading into the rest again.

When he grew bored of that, he splayed his fingers out flat on the floor, mentally comparing them to Link’s. Link’s fingers were longer, he decided, and like with all humans, there was no webbing between them - bad for swimming, but far more dextrous than a merperson’s hands, never mind the clawed fingers of a siren.

He looked up again as Link returned, a few large fish tucked under his arm, making Allen swallow. Link placed these beside him and Allen beamed.

“Thank you!” he exclaimed gratefully, eyes sparkling, and snatched the first of them up, biting into it eagerly.

There was a brief pause, and then Link snorted softly. Allen glanced up but didn’t stop, and found himself puzzled by the look Link was giving him - an intense look, like he was something fascinating, but otherwise unreadable. All the human said, though, was, “Slow down. You’ll make yourself sick.”

Allen ‘mm’ed and slowed down a little, but not by much. When he felt hands on his tail, he didn’t jump, but he did look down curiously.

Link was taking advantage of his occupation to cut the bandages off of his tail, and, subconsciously, Allen slowed to a stop, silver eyes turning worried.

It was a little better than he’d thought it would be, but certainty not pretty. His scales were bent and cracked and crusted with blood, and the cuts were thin but fairly deep. On second inspection, the lines of stitches in his fin criss-crossed most of the surface, barely keeping it together.

Link caught his look and shook his head. “You’ll be fine.” Allen didn’t miss the slight uncertainty in his voice, but before he could address it, Link continued, “Eat. You’ll need strength to heal.”

Uneasily, Allen nodded and went back to his food, only marginally less enthusiastic. Link quietly went about cleaning off the dried blood and then rewrapping the wound in fresh bandages, and then moved on to Allen’s arm.

Allen finished the first fish and let Link have his injured arm, taking the second with his left, inevitably drawing Link’s attention to it, if only for a brief moment.

Allen smiled reassuringly, swallowed the bite he’d taken, and said, “You really don’t need to worry about it. This isn’t the first time I’ve been caught in a net.”

“And the last time, you got that?” Link asked, nodding at the blackened arm.

Allen nodded, though it wasn’t precisely true. “It was an abandoned net, and I was young and on my own - maybe two or three years old at the time.” It boggled his mind, now, that he hadn’t managed to find anyone who would take him in for so long, but then it had been all he knew.

It was hard for a young merperson to live on their own, though some older ones did it - Cross, for one, though even he dropped in on the Order, the nearest of the merperson communities, occasionally. There were sharks, diseases, poisonous plants and fish - and, of course, nets and traps. The ghost net that had damaged his arm hadn’t been the first incident, nor the last, but it had been the worst.

Sometimes he wondered how he’d survived to the age of seven.

“How old are you now?” Link asked. Allen could hear the frown in his voice and almost smiled.

“Fifteen,” he answered easily. He flopped his tail experimentally. It hurt, but it didn’t throb, and Allen smiled, satisfied.

“...Are you still on your own?”

He looked up, startled, to find Link frowning at him, hands paused in the motion of tying off the bandage on his arm, looking almost disturbed. Allen’s eyes widened slightly, and he shook his head rapidly, almost making himself dizzy again.

“No, no! No, not anymore. There’s a settlement not far from this town; I live there. There’s about…” He considered. “Forty of us there, I think.”

Link looked startled too now. “That many?”

Allen smiled and nodded. “That many.”

Link remained still for a moment longer, and then shook himself and looked down again. He finished tying off the bandage while Allen finished the last fish, and then both of them stared at each other for a long moment with nearly equal apprehension.

Finally, Link make a hesitant motion forward, and Allen tilted his head to one side in implicit permission. One of Link’s hands, much warmer than his own but only slightly different in texture, curled carefully around the back of his neck, and with the other, he cut the cloth away from Allen’s neck in slow, cautious motions. Allen shivered.

“You’re very cool,” Link observed, and Allen nodded, a much more subtle motion than before. Link’s fingers tucked under the now-loose cloth and pulled it away delicately.

“It’s cold in the deep sea,” Allen explained, keeping very still, suddenly feeling almost more nervous than when Link had first appeared in the room. “If I was as warm as you were, I’d freeze.”

Link nodded thoughtfully, and then his hand returned with the same washcloth he’d used previously to clean the dried blood away. This time the motions made Allen wince slightly, but Link was gentle enough that it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it might have.

Allen was far more tense now than he had been just moments before; it was almost jarring. From the furrow in Link’s brow, the human had noticed, too.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Link assured him without looking. Allen swallowed, knowing that Link would be able to feel it.

“Okay,” he whispered.

He remained still while Link finished cleaning his neck, and then, finally, the human removed his hand from Allen’s neck. A moment later, the hands returned, starting the wind the bandage around.

“Tell me if I start to restrict your breathing,” Link warned, and Allen nodded subtly again, wary of disturbing his work.

Both of them were silent this time, with only the feeling of Link’s hands passing the roll around and around for occupation. Finally, Link tied this one off, too, and pulled away. Allen relaxed, tilted his head back, and smiled at Link.

“Thank you,” he repeated softly.

Link avoided his gaze, color in his cheeks all over again. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, putting the supplies away. “Would you like to return to the tub now? I don’t believe you’re well enough to go home yet.”

Allen sighed, but knew that Link was most likely correct. “Yes, please.”

Link returned to his side and, with one hand under his shoulders and the other toward the top of his tail, picked him up with the same ease as before. Allen, this time not nearly as wary of being dropped, twisted slightly in his grip to look around curiously, though he caught only a glimpse of the room on the other side of the door before he was set down again in the water.

Allen let out a sigh of relief at the cool touch of the liquid, and tipped his head back to smile up at Link when the human straightened back up, looking composed once again. “Thank you.”

Link nodded and asked, “Would you like me to bring you something to do? I’m afraid there’s not much to offer, but I’d imagine it will get boring in here quite quickly.”

Allen stifled a yawn and shook his head. “No, thank you. I think I’d rather sleep for a bit.”

Link nodded again. “Then I’ll return this evening to check on you. For now, I have to get back to work.”

Allen nodded back and waved Link goodbye, and the blond man turned and left, closing the door behind him. Allen smiled at the closed door for a few moments, and then yawned again, folded his arms over the edge of the tub and set his head on his arms, and closed his eyes.

Link seemed… nice.


	3. Chapter 3

Merpeople were not made for moving on land. They were, ultimately, sea creatures, not land creatures. Allen didn’t have legs, and he couldn’t even bend his tail enough to prop himself up on it when he was uninjured, let alone now.

That meant that he mostly had to prop himself up on his elbows and flop. He made a mental note not to do this while Link was home.

Which was not the case at the moment; Link was out fishing, since he couldn’t abandon his work just because he had a merman at his home. He’d been a bit at a loss as to what to do with Allen while he was gone, and had eventually given him a book to read before he left.

A book Allen couldn’t get wet, so he was stuck he waiting to dry off.

Allen, plopped on his stomach, laid his cheek on his left palm and blew absently on the other, feeling the warm air flow over his drying skin. His tail, behind him, flopped in boredom, thumping lightly against the ground and causing him to wince only a little this time, bandaged as it was.

He reached up and ran his fingers through his damp hair, and then placed his webbed hands on the ground and pushed himself up a little to look around. Nothing he could reach without going to an awful lot of trouble, he decided, and flopped back down. He twisted around and rubbed at his tail gingerly, wincing again at the sting.

Then he registered the fact that the bandages hadn’t gotten wet and grinned. “Great!” he said aloud to no one in particular, and abandoned his bandaged tail to turn to the only potential release from boredom at his disposal.

Link had asked him not to leave the room, given that Allen wasn’t supposed to be here at all, and Allen supposed that that was fair. He didn’t know how often people came in while Link was gone, or how easy it was to see inside. And Allen didn’t really want to be seen, either.

Allen, now dry enough to keep from damaging the book, reached for it and flipped it open.

Merpeople didn’t have much written media. Materials for waterproof paper and ink were hard to come by, and they had plenty of other things to do. Most of their stories, for example, went by word of mouth.

But Mana had taught Allen how to read anyway, and he still remembered.

Allen settled in with his cheek back on his palm and scanned the page absently.

The first time Allen had been unable to escape from an abandoned net had resulted in the permanent discoloration and temporary paralysis of his left arm. He’d resented humans for a long time after that.

The second time, he had met Mana.

Mana had been a human, a village man, who’d lived some ways away from the others, almost on the other side of the bay. He’d cut the net off of Allen, same as Link had, and nursed him to health, ignoring how snappish Allen had been then.

And when he let Allen go, Allen, with nowhere else to go, had kept coming back. Until-

Allen shut the book and rolled over, staring at the ceiling.

He’d forgotten, for a while, that Mana couldn’t swim, that he wasn’t a merperson like Allen was. Even with his legs and the towering height that resulted from them, it had been easy to forget.

Until Allen found his drowned body in the bay. And then he’d remembered.

Allen flailed his tail in the air, watching the fin flap pathetically in the air, and then accidentally thumped it against the wall and grimaced. He pushed himself back and reached forward to examine the site gingerly, but it seemed fine, it just stung.

Allen sighed. And it had only been a few hours.

He set the book aside, a safe distance from the tub, and rolled back over onto his belly, pushed himself up, and grabbed the edge of the tub to haul himself up and wriggle back in. He splashed the ground a little, but Link had assured him that that was alright.

This, he recalled, was why he hated recovery. It was a little better in the open water, but not much. Allen liked moving too much to be confined.

Allen grimaced. Well, at least he’d be able to talk to Link when the man returned.

* * *

Link returned from the market somewhat later than he’d expected, and made a beeline straight for the bathroom, half-worried that the merm- Allen would have vanished while he was gone.

He needn’t have worried; Allen was still in the tub, leaning over the edge to draw water pictures on the wood with one finger of a spread hand. For a moment, Link tracked the hand with interest, watching the stretch and relaxation of the webbing between the merman’s fingers.

Then Allen looked up and smiled at him. “Link!” he greeted cheerfully. “You’re back.”

Link nodded, coming the rest of the way in and closing the door behind him. “I am,” he acknowledged, and then hesitated briefly before continuing, somewhat haltingly, “What did you do today?”

Allen’s smile faded slightly, and he glanced down at the already-fading pictures before shrugging. “I read a little,” he said. “Thank you for the book.”

Link glanced at the book, placed carefully aside, and back to Allen’s current position. Then he felt somewhat stupid and had to work hard not to flush. “Can you read?” he asked, more bluntly than he’d meant to.

“I just said I read,” Allen protested, leaning against the side of the tub. “I… knew someone, and he taught me when I was younger.” Shrug. “I just… don’t read much.”

Link made a mental note that the book had been a stupid idea.

He blew out a frustrated breath and asked, “What _do_ you like to do?”

Allen reached up and bit his thumb, giving Link an apologetic look. Link took that to mean ‘nothing I can do on land’ and suppressed a grimace.

“Sorry,” Allen mumbled, and Link waved one hand dismissively, shaking his head.

“No, it’s not your fault,” he assured Allen absently, frowning to himself. It was actually Link’s fault, to an undeniable extent. And then, after a moment, “Would you like to come to the main room while I cook? I could close the blinds.”

Allen blinked, and then he beamed at Link, who started, surprised, before hesitantly smiling back.

“I would love to, thank you,” Allen replied, clearly pleased, and then nearly gave Link a heart attack as he hauled himself up over the edge and flopped onto the ground unceremoniously.

He saw Allen wince as he landed, and then the boy rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself up onto his elbows, glanced back, and gave Link a distinctly bashful look.

Link took a moment before he understood the issue, and then looked Allen over again and suddenly had a renewed understanding of the phrase ‘fish out of water’.

“Do you need help?” Link asked, more rueful than anything.

Allen dropped his chin onto his intertwined fingers and gave Link an embarrassed smile, tilting his head to look at him. “I am not built for dry land,” Allen said ruefully, and then, “If you really don’t mind.”

Link nodded thoughtfully, and then took a few steps forward, knelt down, and picked Allen up. Water soaked into Link’s clothing, and Allen, only slightly less stiff than he had been last time Link had picked him up, winced.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “You’re all wet now.”

Link shrugged uncomfortably. “I’ll dry,” he assured the merman, turning around. Allen reached out before Link could register the problem at hand, wrapping a webbed hand around the doorknob to turn it and push it open. Link nodded in thanks and walked through, letting it stay open when Allen couldn’t quite catch the doorknob in time to close it behind them; actually, the attempt resulted in an episode of squirming that nearly caused Link to lose his grip on the merman, but he didn’t think Allen had noticed.

Link’s house was fairly ordinary, with a small but well-stocked kitchen and a living room with one couch, a chair, and a coffee table. There was a bookshelf off to one side, and a window with plain curtains that he closed after depositing Allen gingerly on the couch.

He turned around to see Allen looking around with interest, but somewhat less confusion than expected.

“The colors above water are different from the ones in it,” Allen commented unexpectedly, smiling at Link, who blinked.

“How so?” Link inquired, turning away to the icebox – he’d kept a couple fish for Allen. Then, dryly, “I’ve never been underwater before, you see.”

Allen laughed. “There are more browns and greens. Not as many blues and turquoises.” Consider. “Or oranges.”

“It sounds beautiful,” Link said without thinking, still turned away.

Allen beamed. “It is! It’s wonderful. Not that it isn’t above water, of course, but underwater will always be home to me.” Laugh. “The different colors just make everything look a little… unreal, up here.”

Link turned around with a couple of fish in hand, finding Allen smiling at him still, silver eyes sparkling. Link felt his cheeks flush, and Allen’s smile turned a little sheepish.

“I imagine I’d feel similarly if I went underwater,” Link replied, crossing the room again with his houseguest’s meal. “Though that’s not exactly an option for me.”

Allen laughed. “That’s too bad.” Then, “Thank you,” as Link gave him the fish.

“You’re welcome,” Link answered briskly, and turned away quickly to get to work on his own dinner. After a moment, he asked, “Are you able to tell when someone is approaching?”

Allen hummed in confirmation.

Link hesitated. And then he said, “You can occupy yourself in the rest of the house, while I’m gone. Just keep clear of my room and hide if someone approaches, please.”

Behind him, Allen started. “Really? Are you sure?”

Link nodded, even if he wasn’t quite as certain as he’d like to be.

“Thank you very much!” Allen exclaimed, and Link half-smiled at the delight in his voice.

“You’re welcome,” he repeated.


	4. Chapter 4

“You look sick,” Link informed Allen, frowning.

Allen stifled a laugh, casting Link a wry smile. “Thanks,” he said dryly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

Link half-scowled at him. “I’m serious,” he complained, shifting a little to better face Allen, who was on the ground by the chair, sitting up. “Are you feeling all right?”

Allen frowned and reach down to rub his tail roughly with his palm, reluctant to consider that.

Actually, he’d been feeling a little sick – hot and tired, like he’d been out of the water too long, but it didn’t matter how much time he surrendered to being bored in the bathtub, it didn’t really get any better. He felt a little nauseous right now, actually.

Finally, he shrugged. “I’m fine. It’s probably just from being still too long.” He smiled. “Two weeks is a long time not to swim around.” He squeezed his own arm playfully, giving Link a grin. “My arms are getting a workout, though.”

Link eyed him consideringly, and then glanced down at Allen’s tail, now mostly free of bandages. At last, Link said, “You’ll probably be able to go home in a few days, if you’d like.”

Allen caught the hint of regret in Link’s voice and wondered at it for a moment, giving him a brief, curious look, but it was gone before Link even looked back up.

“That’s good,” Allen replied, smiling again. “My friends must be worried half to death. Kanda’s going to menace me with a trident and everything.”

Link’s expression cleared, and he nodded shortly. “You must miss them yourself.”

Allen’s smile turned wistful. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

They might’ve continued, but the sound of footsteps, distant but distinct, startled both of them. Allen half-yelped and twisted to look at the bathroom door, slightly ajar, and a moment later, Link had scooped him up and was taking him briskly toward it. Allen reached up to grasp absently at the back of Link’s shirt and twisted to look at the front door apprehensively.

He had a few moment’s preparation before Link lowered him back into the tub, still full of water that felt, though Allen would never admit it to Link, harsh and uncomfortably warm.

“It’s likely some of my friends,” Link explained to him, taking a moment to linger by the tub, crouching. “I’ve been spending more time at home as of late; they’re bound to have noticed.”

Allen winced, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Link was already up and going, closing the door behind him. Allen half-sighed, half-smiled, and propped himself against the side of the tub to listen, one hand curled lightly around the rim.

A minute or two passed in silence, but then there was a knock at the door, and Allen heard it open.

“Tewaku, Madarao,” Link greeted, unsurprised, of course. “What brings you here?”

Someone made a disgusted noise, and a girl answered, “Looking for you, of course. You’ve been even more of a hermit than usual. Something wrong?”

“Nothing, I assure you,” Link said dryly, and the door closed; they must have come in. “But I’m flattered by your concern.”

“Well, someone’s got to look out for you,” the girl replied. Allen could hear her smirk in her voice and stifled a smile of his own.

The other person cleared their throat. “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” the man asked. Allen’s smile faded at the edge to his voice.

“Yes, of course,” Link assured, concern creeping in. “Madarao…?”

“Nothing,” the man – Madarao, Allen guessed – interrupted. “But the chief has been wondering, too.”

There was a short silence, strangely ominous, and Allen clamped his hands down on the edge, brow wrinkling in concern. He’d heard many things about Leverrier, most of them from Lenalee, none of them good.

“Chief Leverrier knows he has nothing to worry about from me,” Link said at last, quiet.

“Of course,” Tewaku agreed quietly. “But you know how he’s been lately.”

“Hm.” Link was silent for a moment, and then he spoke again. “It’s the lack of business. He’s worrying, that’s all. People aren’t passing through as much anymore.”

“Humph,” Tewaku snorted.

“No matter _why,”_ Madarao interrupted, stern, “it would probably for the best if you didn’t give him cause to worry about _you,_ Link.”

“I understand,” Link acknowledged quietly.

There was a tense moment, and then someone sighed.

“He trusts you more than anyone anyway,” Tewaku said, a little more upbeat. “It just doesn’t hurt to be careful.” A brief pause, and then she continued, “The local sirens really have been raising hell, though, you notice?”

Allen frowned, leaning forward a little more in curiosity. As far as he was aware, the sirens, living almost outside of the bay, had actually been _less_ active recently. Then again, that was for merpeople; maybe they’d turned their unaccountable ire onto the humans in the area.

Link snorted quietly. “How could I not? One of them tipped a _boat_ last week.”

“The big angry one,” Tewaku agreed. “Scary thing.”

“Chief Leverrier thinks that some of the merpeople are using the sirens as cover and joining in,” Madarao pitched in, serious. “I think he’s losing his patience with them.”

That was ridiculous. Merpeople weren’t strong enough to tip boats. God knows Kanda had tried.

“Is he?” Link sounded concerned. “How so?”

Brief pause. Subconsciously, Allen flexed his tail beneath him, and in a response he still hadn’t gotten used to, the water swished and swayed around him. Some of it slopped over the side of the tub and to the ground with a clearly audible splash. He froze.

The silence that followed that sound was much more oppressive than the one before it, and Allen held his breath, eying the door warily.

“What was that?” Madarao asked at last, voice low.

Link hesitated, and then said, very firmly, “It was nothing.”

“Nothing?” Madarao was clearly skeptical, and for good reason. Allen sank back guiltily.

“Nothing,” Link repeated.

Pause, much longer and more strained.

“Well,” Tewaku said after a moment, voice a little cooler and almost dry, “I hope that ‘nothing’ is gone before Chief Leverrier is any more _worried._ You hear me?”

Link blew out a long breath. “Of course,” he murmured.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Madarao said offhandedly, with an edge of warning.

“What am I doing?” Link countered without missing a beat, and Madarao snorted.

“Exactly,” he said dryly, and then, “I think Tewaku and I should be going, then. We’ll make sure the others know you’re fine, just a little sick.”

“Thank you,” Link said sincerely.

“You owe us,” Tewaku threw out, but it didn’t sound like she meant it, Allen thought.

A few moments later, the door opened and closed again, and then Link opened the door into the bathroom, coming in.

“Sorry,” Allen said, giving Link a guilty smile. “I didn’t-” Link wasn’t smiling. Allen’s faded. “You want me to go?”

He watched any number of emotions flit across Link’s face, irritation and anxiety and worry, but what Link said was, “Do you think you can make it home?”

“Of course,” Allen said instantly, completely certain of this now. He was almost completely healed; a few days’ difference probably wouldn’t change much.

Link considered him for a moment. “Would you have gone home that first day, if you hadn’t passed out first?”

“…Yes?” Allen answered, a little confused now.

Link nodded to himself, and then said firmly, “You’re staying here until I say otherwise.”

Allen yelped and nearly tumbled out of the tub, but caught himself against the side, giving Link a surprised look. “Really? After that?”

Link shrugged, looking away uncomfortably. “Tewaku and Madarao are good friends,” he said at last. “If they were going to say anything, they would have told me so.”

Allen gazed at him for a moment, and then smiled. “Alright,” he acknowledged, gratitude infusing the word with warmth.

“But let me know if you feel any more sick,” Link added. Allen nodded. “Now, come out. I need to make dinner.”

* * *

Three days later, Link finally gave in and carried Allen out to the dock by his house. He took all sorts of precautions first, of course; it was getting dark, and he circled the house several times first, looking around for incoming visitors.

But finally, _finally,_ he brought Allen out, and knelt down, and hesitated.

Allen laughed, and rolled out of his arms to land in the water with a splash that didn’t quite cover Link’s surprised yelp.

And despite the sickness, despite the pull of muscles he hadn’t really gotten a chance to use, it felt _wonderful._ The water was cool and familiar, and the flex of his tail, the swish of the water around his body, was even better. He laughed again, just a stream of bubbles in the ocean, and chirped instead, high and delighted as he twisted and stretched for the first time in _weeks._

The misty, darkening turquoise of the water looked like home, and it beckoned him, calling him further in, but he stayed under for only a few minutes before he surfaced again, shaking his wet hair out of his face.

When he looked up, Link was still there, and he was smiling. His brown eyes looked bright, and he was even still kneeling on the edge of the dock, a few speckles of darker fabric marking where he’d been caught in Allen’s entry splash.

Allen smiled at him brightly, his own silver eyes sparkling, the scales of his tail catching the light as it swished and flexed to keep him aloft.

“You look healthier already,” Link commented quietly, his smile sincere in a way Allen hadn’t seen from him yet.

Allen hummed a confirmation, still buzzing with happiness. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed this,” he admitted cheerfully, his webbed fingers batting absently at the water to keep him steady as he grinned at Link. But then his smile faded a little. “I should… really be getting home, though.”

Link’s smile faded, too, and a regretful look entered his expression. “Yes, you should,” he agreed. He hesitated, and then added, “It’s been… enlightening, though.”

That was all it took to bring Allen’s laugh back, eyes bright with amusement. “I’ll miss you too,” he said warmly. “Good luck with everything.” He winked. “And say hi to your friends for me.”

Link looked briefly surprised, and then amused, shaking his head slightly. “And you yours,” he countered.

Allen grinned. “Of course. I have to tell them where I’ve been, after all.” And then, “Thank you again.”

Link flushed a little, glancing away. “It was nothing more than expected,” he said loftily, and Allen chuckled.

“I’m sure,” he replied, and reached up. Link looked briefly startled, and then leaned down, reaching to meet him halfway. Allen squeezed the fisherman’s hand and let his smile warm. “Goodbye, Link.”

Link’s smile faded, but didn’t quite disappear. Instead, it looked wry, almost sad. “Goodbye… Allen.”

Allen smiled at him again, and then let go, turned, and, in a flash of silver scales, disappeared into the water.

Link watched him go, and then watched for a few minutes after that. Just to be sure.


End file.
